


Need a Little Lovin'

by PersonyPepper



Series: We Love One (1) Valdo Marx, Troubadour of Cidaris [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: <3 they're just three men in love with one another ok? ok, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Brief Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Horny Jaskier | Dandelion, Humor, I love that tag, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Polyamory, Soft Valdo Marx, Switch Valdo Marx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29324181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: The firelight makes them glow, and Geralt watches as Jaskier coaxes his fingers through Valdo’s hair. He can hear them murmuring.Darling, you’ve got to take better care of your hair, Jaskier chastises. He presses a kiss to Valdo’s shoulder, idle as he braids.Why, when I’ve got you to take care of it for me? Jaskier smacks his shoulder, and Valdo laughs as he looks down at his sketchbook.Or, Jaskier and Valdo fall in love with each other and then fall in love together <3 Geralt pines after them, not realizing that he's already become a part of what they have.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Valdo Marx, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Series: We Love One (1) Valdo Marx, Troubadour of Cidaris [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156979
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Might edit this later but I love this and you deserve to read this soft lil thing <3

Valdo Marx is a blasé plebeian with less skill than a frog with a flute. 

Jaskier glares, eyes squinted as the man flitters across stage, his brown eyes trained on Jaskier’s blues with something _insufferable_ shining in them. And his stupid pursed lips as he plays— _ugh_. 

He’s not even a _bard_. He’s a fuckin’ _painter_ studying _art_ and Jaskier has no fucking clue why the asshole’s joined in a _bardic competition_. He’s been trying to one up Jaskier since they met in orientation, bowing even deeper, talking even louder. Jaskier is so extremely tired of him.

Lettenhove’s courting rituals are based in respect; toning down in order proclaim one another equals. Cidaris’, as Jaskier does not know, is to show interest in the other’s passions.

He scowls as Valdo skips off stage after his irritating fucking sweeping bow. “How was I, darling?” He asks. His face is flushed, lips pink. It’s a shame he’s so insufferable, Jaskier would very much like to kiss him. 

“Like toad with a cold, my dear,” Jaskier coos, batting his lashes. He turns with a scowl, and misses the sight of Valdo’s face falling as he stomps off. 

-

Fucking _Valdo fucking Marx_ and his stupid— his stupid stupidity! 

“Come here to brag again?” Jaskier’s legs swing lazily from where they hang over the ceiling building. The night air is pleasant and warm, and he was having a lovely session of composing before he’d heard footsteps behind him. 

Valdo sits next to him, and Jaskier sighs. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” He asks finally. Jaskier nearly about falls off the side of the library rooftop. 

“Because _you_ hate me? You’ve been tying to insult me for, what, three years now?” Jaskier stares at him in exasperation, and Valdo looks back with his head cocked in _confusion._

“I— I’ve been courting you. For three years now,” he whispers. Jaskier is on his way to having a crisis. 

“You _what?_ Is that what deigns as courting people these days? _”_

“I was expressing interest in your passions!” Valdo half-shouts, “That’s how people court!” 

“Not in Lettenhove! I’ve never heard of— ah, fuck you, Valdo,” and he grasps the front of the painter-bard’s doublet him forward till their lips meet. For the frustration they’re both feeling, the kiss is surprisingly chaste, surprisingly soft. 

Valdo thumbs Jaskier’s cheek as they pull apart. “I’ve loved you for _so long_ , you fool.” Jaskier laughs, melting into his touch. 

“I, you, you sickened toad.” 

\- 

Valdo winces as Jaskier ducks the bread being thown at him, but his husband had made him promise that he wouldn’t interfere. He sits on his hands as he waits, and Jaskier comes back to sit in his lap after he’s collected the bread and shouted his indignation. 

“Is that bread in your pockets, or are you just happy to see me?” he murmurs. Jaskier chuckles, presses a kiss to his cheek before they’re both digging into molding bread. Starving artists, the pair of them. Valdo still doesn’t have the money to buy paints and canvases, but soon. Soon, they’re going to travel and sing and paint and dance and be in love it’s going to be _wonderful_. 

“Valdo?” Jaskier’s eyes shine, gaze trained over his shoulder. He turns his head to look behind him, at the broody man in the corner, shunned from sunlight. Images of fierce beasts and daring witchers fill his mind, fingers itching to paint. Jaskier’s cock chubs against the side of Valdo’s stomach as he stares, lips parted. Valdo is not laughing, no he is not, his husband is just constantly horny and that’s _not_ hilarious. Jaskier smacks him as he shakes in quiet laughs. He ends up pleading guilty, and later that night, they end up being railed by the oh handsome, broody witcher.

Valdo wakes, body aching pleasantly. Jaskier’s eyes flutter open to trace his movements, squinted against the morning light. He fumbles blindly until they’re pressed towards one another, and sighs cutely as Valdo presses a kiss to his lips. 

“Good morning,” Jaskier whispers. Valdo hums, pressing a kiss to his head. There are soft snores coming from behind him, and Valdo turns to meet the still-out witcher, dozing lazily. Jaskier shifts from behind him, peering over Valdo’s shoulder and at the witcher. 

“Jaskier?” he asks, trailing his eyes over the earned scars, aching to draw each one in detail and capture the way morning light makes shadows them gently. Jaskier is already humming the first tunes to a song. They’ve always been one another’s muses but it seems that they’ve found another.

-

The artist and the bard won’t leave him alone. Geralt grunts, Roach walking slowly despite his commands. Traitor. The bard is humming, and the artist, as given away by the messy sketch he’d been working on in his leatherbound book when Geralt had awoken, is somehow drawing and walking at the same time. He glances up at Geralt every now and then, seeing him as if he’s a subject rather than truly paying attention to _him_ before turning back to his sketchbook. 

The bard strums at his lute, asking the artists for rhymes and opinions every now and then, and the artist replies. He shows him his work in return, asking _does this look right?_

They wear matching gold bands. Geralt grumbles. Newlyweds. He wants them to stop following him.

They won’t. 


	2. Chapter 2

The firelight makes them glow, and Geralt watches as Jaskier coaxes his fingers through Valdo’s hair. He can hear them murmuring.

 _Darling, you’ve got to take better care of your hair,_ Jaskier chastises. He presses a kiss to Valdo’s shoulder, idle as he braids.

 _Why, when I’ve got you to take care of it for me?_ Jaskier smacks his shoulder, and Valdo laughs as he looks down at his sketchbook. His braid settles between his shoulder blades as Jaskier ties it off— Geralt looks away just in time as blue eyes turn to peer at him. 

He turns in his bedroll. He has no idea why they insist on following him. Likely for money, maybe they want to fuck him again. He’d forgotten he was a— he grimaces— fetish among the more brave folk. Valdo holds his sketchbook to the light, and charcoal glows against the page. Jaskier turns his head back to look at it, and Geralt does the same. 

It’s a drawing of him and Jaskier, where the little bard had tucked himself into Geralt’s chest in the middle of the night. Valdo had stayed in his bedroll, pulling out his charcoal under the moonlight. 

What they have is strange. It’s loving, and kind.

“Can I braid your hair?” Jaskier’s eyes are bright, bright blue as he looks down at Geralt. He grunts in reply, and Jaskier takes it as a yes. Skilled fingers comb through his hair, and Geralt finds himself keeping in a sigh as Jaskier works. He wants to melt into his touch.

“All done.” Geralt hums, and Jaskier presses a kiss to his shoulder before finding his feet and walking back to his husband. Geralt stares after him.

-

“You’re not asleep are you?” The months have turned cold, and the weather will soon be icy. They lay by the dying fire, piled atop one another. 

“Hmm.” Valdo smiles, adjusting his position till he’s sprawled atop Geralt. His head rests against Geralt’s chest, leg between his legs, and an arm slings over his waist. Jaskier whines in his sleep, his source of heat now blanketing Geralt, and pulls his furs tighter around himself as he dozes.

Valdo turns his head to look at him, and when he turns to look back at Geralt, his face is enamored, smile soft. Like this, with Valdo smiling up at him, Geralt can pretend that the soft smile is for him. He finds himself wanting to. The artist falls asleep, and Geralt soon follows. When he wakes, Jaskier has a leg hitched over Valdo’s thigh, foot resting on Geralt’s leg. The bard cuddles Valdo from behind.

Black wisps have fallen out of Valdo’s braid, and Geral gently pushes them away, tucks them behind the artist’s ear. He cups his cheek, still hazy from deep sleep, and smiles at the soft skin under his rough palm.

He startles when he notices blue eyes peering at him from over Valdo’s shoulder, beginning to pull away from where he’s plastered to the bard’s husband— excuses line the tip of his tongue, on the edge of falling but stuck all the same.

Jaskier grins at him. “Isn’t he so pretty?” he whispers, winking before he a presses a kiss to Valdo’s cheek, down his neck… “I love him so much.” It’s whispered into Valdo’s skin like they’re sared words. Geralt thinks they are, in a way.

He should leave. Jaskier’s touches are too intimate against Valdo’s skin, the artist still sleeping quietly. The bard traces circles on the exposed skin of his husband’s stomach. “Jaskier, I—”

Valdo wakes, blinking away sleep as he peers down at Jaskier. Jaskier kneels between his legs, grin devilish as he mouths the outline of Valdo’s cock. Valdo huffs a laugh, fingers intertwining in Jaskier’s hair. He then looks up at Geralt, and Geralt finds that he can’t breathe. He’s beautiful, with the smattering of freckles across the dark of his skin. His eyes are rich brown, and Geralt wants him so badly. Jaskier makes a whimpering noise from where he’s knelt, and Geralt glances as him to see that the artist’s knee has been raised to the space between Jaskier’s legs, and that Jaskier ruts lazily as he watches them. 

His attention is drawn back at the gentle hand on Geralt’s jaw, his head guided to turn and face the artist. Brown eyes peer into him before they flutter shut, and blue eyes watch as Valdo kisses him.


End file.
